Good Morning, Darling
by Boyfrom0z
Summary: Johnny wakes up at St. Jimmy's filthy apartment  and in his filthy bed  - again - and wonders what's become of his life. Sort of Jimmy/Johnny, drug references. One shot.


A/N: I walked out of seeing the show with this in my head. It's basically just a picture, but it's how I see the relationship between Jimmy and Johnny.

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><p>Johnny breathed in the smell of the filthy mattress and the stale air of the room beyond. His face was buried in the dirty material and it <em>reeked<em>. The mattress lay directly on the floor and it smelled like sweat and vomit, blood and urine, sex and alcohol, but mostly it smelled like drugs and death. Johnny felt about as bad as the mattress smelled and quite possibly worse. His brain was making a strong effort to escape his scull through his forehead and his ass felt like – well, he'd rather not think about that one just yet; it was too damn early. He was hung over, up, sideways, and several other directions most people were probably not aware of. Sprawled across the mattress in the dark, dingy room, Johnny felt (and looked) like total shit.

The worst part of it was, he had woken up like this before.

Many, many times.

Or maybe not. Maybe that wasn't the worst part. Maybe the worst part was what Johnny knew he would see when he finally mustered the energy and the guts to lift his head and look around.

Johnny did finally raise his head and he did see what he had known he'd see. There _he_ was, sitting there on the edge of the mattress; his long, thin legs folded up like some kind of weird grasshopper; his arms, just as long and thin, resting on his thighs; a cigarette dangling casually from the first two fingers on his right hand. He was looking down at Johnny, a teasing yet dangerous smile playing wickedly around his lips. Even in the dim light, Johnny could see all the contours of his pale chest, tightly incased in his black tank top and of his legs, sheathed in equally tight black jeans.

"Good morning, darling."

Saint Jimmy smiled at Johnny and Johnny buried his face in the mattress again. This had to stop happening.

For one thing, Jimmy was several years younger than Johnny was. (Hell, Johnny didn't have any evidence that Jimmy was even _legal_.) For another, he was dealing all kinds of shit and getting Johnny hooked on it too. Jimmy and his drugs had dragged Johnny down and away from the girl of his dreams. Jimmy had destroyed his whole damn life (well, the parts of it he'd had left when they'd met). _And_, to top it all off, Jimmy was a fucking _guy_. And gay! And Johnny was straight. Sure, he'd screwed around in high school, but who hadn't? He was straight. There was no doubt about it in his mind and he was pretty damn sure that Jimmy knew it too.

And maybe it was partially that fact that made Jimmy want Johnny so badly: the fact that he couldn't have him. Jimmy was the kind of guy who wanted what he could not have. He was also the kind of guy who was used to getting what he could not have. Had anyone around him been sober enough to try to figure him out, they probably would have come to the more or less true conclusion that Jimmy came from a rich family that had always thrown money at him instead of affection since he had been a small child. Buying his way for as long as he could remember with no restrictions or love had turned Jimmy into what he was now. Of course, there was also something fundamentally fucked up about him, something than ran much deeper than neglect, something much, much nastier. All in all, it wasn't a pretty picture to wake up to.

Not that Jimmy himself wasn't pretty. In his strange way, he was gorgeous and Johnny could and did appreciate this. However, that did not change the fact that Johnny felt sick every morning he woke up sore to Jimmy watching him with that wicked, maddening smirk on his face.

Johnny sighed. He had to get the fuck out of here. And yet he knew he'd stay. Because some sick, sick part of him loved it. He wished he could leave, but the drugs, the worst of which was flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the carpet, had him trapped in a cheaply spangled cage.

Johnny shoved his body into something that resembled a sitting position and stared over at Jimmy, who stared back.

"And how are we this fine morning?" asked Jimmy.

Johnny hated it when Jimmy talked like that, like they were living in a fifties sit-com or something.

"Shitty," said Johnny, looking around for his shirt.

"Tut-tut, such language already. It's not even noon." Jimmy's smirk was growing.

Johnny wanted to punch him, but he was too tired and knew all too well that Jimmy owned him.

"What time is it?" he mumbled after he'd spotting his shirt across the room and was debating internally the pros and cons of bothering to exert the effort to retrieve it.

"About quarter of."

"Noon?"

"'S'what I said."

Johnny had come to the conclusion that it was worth getting his shirt. He crawled to the end of the mattress and found that, if he stretched, he could reach the garment. He pulled it to him and made a face. It was gross. But then again, he could feel Jimmy's eyes boring into his naked skin and the need to cover himself from that gaze drove him to pull the dirty shirt over his head.

Johnny had never dreamed he would miss doing laundry.

Hell, he'd never dreamed he'd miss old Jingle Town and the Seven Eleven made of graphite, petty theft, and punk kids who were all so sure that if they could just get out... If ever got back, he'd sure as hell set those bastards right.

Expect he wouldn't. If he ever got back it would be nothing but tales of glory from the fabled city that was better than any of them could ever have imaged. Even this could have a magnificent splendor. What held the sheen of adventure more than squatting in a hole in a wall while having an illicit love affair with a Dionysian drug god? It almost sounded good. Shame it wasn't.

"So what's it to be?" Jimmy was saying. "Make the rounds tonight and then find a party?"

Johnny understood that by "make the rounds" Jimmy met visit the alleys his desperate clientele frequented, waiting with bloodshot eyes for their saint to bring them what they needed so badly.

At least Johnny got it for free. Some silver lining, right?

Johnny didn't like Jimmy making his rounds. It made him nervous. As much as he hating being Jimmy's plaything he hated the idea of being replaced even more. That idea terrified him. He had no clue what would become of him when Jimmy tired of him. So, although he loathed going to clump to clump of desperate junkies with Jimmy, he did it, if just to remind Jimmy that he was there.

Some life.

Some crucifixion.

He hadn't heard from his old friends in he didn't know how long. Time was meaningless now. Tunny could be dead. Will could have another kid. Johnny was cut off from it all. He wondered where Whatsername was and what she was doing, if she'd gotten her revolution yet.

"Is there food?" Johnny asked.

Jimmy tossed him a package of pop-tarts.

"You need a shower," he said.

"I know."

Johnny thought about this for a minute.

"Do we even _have_ a shower?" he asked at length.

Jimmy shrugged. _Someone _had a shower and so he had a shower. That was how it worked.


End file.
